


Hold On Together

by Kylenne



Series: Save the Last Dance [3]
Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Canon, Bisexual Female Character of Color, Black Female Character, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Multi, POV Female Character, Polyamorous Character, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-12 22:04:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16004228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kylenne/pseuds/Kylenne
Summary: Little did Imani Shepard know that a single encrypted message from Thane Krios to meet him on the Citadel would signal the start of a new chapter in both their lives--and in the life of the turian comrade they both love.





	Hold On Together

**Author's Note:**

> This is intended to replace the game canon Thanemance scene that takes place in Huerta Memorial between Priority: Palaven and Priority: Sur'Kesh, and is what actually happened in Imani's canon. It takes place at roughly the same point in the timeline, and is the direct sequel to First and Last and Always.

Imani Shepard was a wreck.

She gazed at her reflection in the enormous mirror, hoping she didn’t look the way she felt, and thus appraised herself with an uncharacteristically-perfectionistic eye. The intricately layered, wrap-style micro sweater dress hugged her curves quite nicely; she fussed with it anyhow. White straps of stretchy jersey left her dark shoulders bare, in a cutout effect; the wrap itself was a pale, silver-white cable knit, belted at the waist by a loose bow of smoky gunmetal gray, and it revealed a bit of micro short white jersey skirt. Her light leggings were white as well, with a mauve and taupe pattern like racing stripes up her thighs, and she silently swore as she spotted a stray wrinkle in them, bending down to smooth and stretch it out with her fingers as best she could. When she rose, crisis averted, she turned her attention to her décolletage, above the plunging neckline, and the pendant of pale lapis: a drell religious talisman, a rounded spearhead, which was the holy symbol of Amonkira. It hung from a thick cord around her neck that matched her belt.

Imani looked much less like the battle-hardened Commander Shepard than was usual these days. Instead, she was the picture of casual elegance, all things considered--despite the fact that her heart was racing nearly as much as it did in combat. She smoothed out the sides of her dress again with trembling hands, the cable knit absorbing the sweat from her palms. She fidgeted with her pendant, making sure it laid just so. It was silly, and more than a little bit vain, but Imani was determined to believe that she had to look perfect.

That he wanted to see her again in the first place was a good sign, but nothing was ever certain. It had been more than six months since they’d last seen each other, after all. So much could have happened, and did—for her, at least, even stuck under house arrest in Vancouver, and even if _that_ didn’t change how she felt about him.

“Steven Hackett” was a conversation that made her head hurt, though, and she had enough on her mind as it stood. Best to worry about that another time, she told herself sternly.

Fiddling with her clothes and her thick red curls, checking her deep plum lipstick for the nineteenth time—Imani did these things over and over, like a nervous teenage girl about to go out on her first date. She _felt_ like one, fretting like this, hoping she’d hold up to exacting scrutiny when matched against perfect memory, and not be found wanting. And she dearly hoped that she didn’t look as haggard as this war was making her feel. With time ticking away, Imani took a single, deep breath to calm her nerves, retrieved her simple gunmetal clutch from the counter, and exited the ladies room to her awaiting shuttle.

The taxi to Tayseri Ward seemed to take an eternity, even though it was really only fifteen minutes at most. Imani glanced out the window, looking out over the darkened skyline. While the damage Tayseri sustained during Sovereign’s attack on the Citadel years prior was critical—it took the brunt of the heretic geth’s fury—the Ward was slowly recovering. Imani never made it there on her visits to the Citadel during the Collector mission, but she spotted more twinkling lights through the shuttle’s external display than the last time she’d been there, nearly three years ago. Massive construction cranes sheathed in cobalt blue kinetic shielding still dotted the cityscape, and the mysterious Keepers skittered about making what seemed like endless repairs.

All things considered, this particular ward seemed a strange choice of locale for a lunch date, Imani thought as the taxi landed at her destination and the shuttle doors opened.

She looked up to see the elaborate sign hanging in front of the restaurant, a single word inscribed in drell script, flowing, elegant, and now very familiar: “Oasis”, according to her translator. By contrast, the building looked as if it housed something of a hole-in-the-wall establishment, small and non-descript, blending seamlessly into the shops and apartments around it. It was the sort of place that could very easily be missed by passersby, if they didn’t know to look.

She realized that looks were very deceiving, though, once she walked through the whooshing doors. In contrast to the bustling noise of construction outside, the interior was quiet enough that she heard the clicks of her strappy, silvery blue heels echoing off the gleaming hardwood floor of the foyer. It had to be soundproofed to an inch of its life, she thought. And it was near-empty at this time of day, right after the busiest lunchtime rush, with only a couple of diners present, solitary drell having tea by their lonesome.

What awaited her inside the restaurant proper was nothing short of breathtaking. It was all rich woods, dark and warm. Bronzed lanterns hung from the ceiling, filling the dining room with dim, soft candle light which cast intricate shadows through swirling, filigreed cutouts. Carpets worth their weight in elaborate silk weave spread across the floor, beneath oddly octagonal tables draped with fine, dark linens. The walls were covered in finely detailed mosaics, fashioned in swirling abstract patterns.

But it was the savory aromas that really impressed Imani: rich spices simmering in oil, by turns pungent garlic and warm cumin and coriander, stirring cherished memories born deep inside of her mother’s kitchen. It did feel like a strangely familiar environment, reminding Imani a lot of the holos her mother showed her of the Fakhri family restaurant in Toronto, back on Earth. At the same time though, there were distinct differences; the scent of fried pork carried in the air, which was definitely not something one would have found in that Torontonian halal kitchen. Still, it was familiar in a comforting sort of way.

The atmosphere, though it was beautiful and cozy, was not what Imani’s searching eyes were ultimately concerned with, however. As she was looking around by the entrance, a crisply uniformed young drell woman greeted her, smiling broadly.

“Welcome, Commander Shepard,” the hostess said, with a polite bow. “We are honored by your patronage.”

“I’m meeting someone for lunch, and I think he should be here already,” Imani said, still glancing about in anxious anticipation.

The hostess’ smile grew broader then, and faintly sly. “Yes, Sere Krios is this way. Please follow me.”

Imani did so, walking with her around a small corner to the left of the main dining room—small as it was—and saw him at last, seated at a tiny booth tucked away in the dimmest, darkest corner as always, fiddling with his omni-tool. He glanced up from it as soon as she walked in, and when their eyes met, a lump formed in her throat, her pulse fluttered, and her knees grew every bit as weak as they were the first time she ever saw him, standing in the rose-golden light of a Nos Astra sunrise.

“Siha…” Thane said. His sultry voice was breathless, and he whispered the epithet like a prayer as he rose from his seat.

She scarcely noticed the hostess at her side, taking leave of them with a bow and a smile. For Imani, in that moment, there was no one else in that tiny restaurant—on the Citadel, in the galaxy itself—but Thane Krios, smiling at her with the light of a thousand Nos Astra sunrises shining in those big, soulful eyes of his, grown wide at the sight of her. Her hand reached up absently to grasp the pendant around her neck, as she caught her own breath.

Imani didn’t have his perfect memory; she was only human, after all. But he was every bit as beautiful as she remembered, her Osiris from the stars, with radiant scales in a gradient of verdant hues and russet frills beneath high cheekbones to die for. She noticed some new jewelry, then, when she could finally glance away from his fine, aquiline nose and thick, pouting lips; a trio of gold clips pierced the ridged scales above his frills, on each side of his face, on what was approximately his ears. They suited him well, she thought, and even better than the sterling silver he once wore.

And, as always, Thane was fit and sleek in his signature leather, though this trench and trouser set were a deep, blood red shade, with black accents and white stitching. That suit, Imani remembered well—he’d purchased it in Nos Astra, a bit of retail therapy to take his mind off his worries for her and Garrus as he waited for them at the upscale shops in the Exchange, while they sought to help Miranda with her sister. The ensemble's colors, red and black, were a deliberate choice on his part, a message sent by a man with the soul of a poet: N7 colors, Imani’s signature colors, that he wore to show his loyalty to her. He wore that suit when they plunged headlong into the abyss of the unknown, through the Omega-4 Relay.

Unlike that harrowing night, however, he now wore a shirt of fine midnight silk beneath the leather coat, and not the reinforced armor. The matching sunglasses with their ruby red lenses were clipped and hanging from the plunging neckline of his shirt—as always, he’d left it unbuttoned low to expose his chiseled upper pecs, and Imani tried not to stare.

Instead, she crossed the distance to him without thinking, and wrapped her arms about him, clinging to him in a tight embrace imbued with six months of incalculable longing and even stronger fears. The latter came rushing back, seeing him again like this; every bit as hale as her imperfect human memory recalled…but for how long?

He held her close against him, and she realized she was trembling in his arms; she breathed deeply to settle herself and push those awful thoughts aside, inhaling a distinctive fragrance that had become so familiar to her: the rich sandalwood, musk, and clove of his favorite cologne— _Khalar Noir_ —mingling with the leather he wore. The mere scent of it clinging to his warm scales was nearly enough to make her tear up, stirring memories of him lodged deep in her soul. She didn’t have to be a drell to feel such a visceral imprint.

“I missed you so much, Thane,” Imani whispered, her voice catching in her throat.

Thane held her for a long moment, squeezing her tightly before pulling away; but only enough to tilt his head and find her lips with his own, aching with tenderness and slow burning passion. He parted them with his tongue, and she drowned in him for a long moment, eyes closed and heart swelling, as he stroked her back.

For once, it was Imani who found herself coming up for air first, gasping a little. Thane smiled at her again, reaching up to gently caress her cheek, smooth fingertips lightly brushing her skin; a simple gesture, one he'd made a million times, but it never failed to make her heart flutter like a schoolgirl's. "I've prayed so long, to your gods and mine, that I might be able to do that again," he said softly.

"I'm glad they answered us both," Imani said, returning his smile. "You look good."

"And you're even more beautiful than in my memories," Thane said. Imani giggled softly at it, warmth rushing into her cheeks, and she playfully fluttered long, thick eyelashes at him.

"Do drell say that to all their lovers?" she teased him.

Thane grinned wolfishly, his hands drifting down her sides, following her curves to rest on her hips. "Only the truly beautiful ones. The dress really does suit you though, siha."

"Thanks for it, by the way. You always did have exquisite taste," Imani said, toying with the collar of his shirt for emphasis. That had to be some incredibly expensive silk, she mused to herself as her fingers smoothed the soft, slick fabric.

"I know," he agreed, his eyes narrowing in sudden hunger, alight with a spark of mischief. Thane's hands wandered down and around her hips, behind her, and took firm hold of her ass, squeezing it tightly in his grasp. It sent an involuntary shiver of pleasure coursing up her spine, and she bit her lip to cool her blood.

"Behave yourself, Thane. No dessert before lunch," Imani said, reaching up to playfully bop his broad nose.

"My apologies, siha. But that, too, was an answer to prayer," Thane said, laughing quietly. Suitably chastened, he released her, gallantly offered her a hand, and guided her into the half-circle seat of the booth before sliding in next to her. A pair of datapads rested on the dark linen tablecloth, and he passed one to her.

"You're incorrigible," Imani said, giggling softly again, as she accepted the tablet. After a tap or two, she found herself flicking through the menu, scrolling through all manner of delicious drell delicacies, with colorful animated pictures of each dish. She'd never had drell food before, but it seemed to have something of a familiar, Eastern Mediterranean-esque flair, as her nose detected from the delicious aromas.

“And relieved,” Thane added, as he brushed back her crimson curls, and planted a soft kiss upon her temple. “When I saw what happened to Earth, I…feared the worst.”

Imani reached down beneath the table, and slipped her hand into his, squeezing it tightly for a moment in reassurance. “It was bad, Thane. I won’t lie. But I made it out in one piece.”

“Forgive me, siha. I tried contacting you several times before, but Anderson forbade it,” Thane said.

“I know, Thane. And there's nothing to forgive. I appreciate the thought,” Imani replied, squeezing his hand again. She sighed, thinking about Anderson, and a lump formed in her throat. “He stayed behind, actually. Said someone had to rally a resistance. He reinstated me and sent me here, for help…for all the good it did.”

“The Council remains obstinate, then?” Thane asked.

“As ever,” Imani sighed. “Everyone’s got their own problems, and they're all circling the wagons to protect their own interests and homeworlds first. You know how it is. Funny enough, Sparatus of all people was the most sympathetic. It was his idea to make an end run around the others--appeal directly to the leadership of the other species. The turians are calling a war summit, to that goal."

"Do you have news from Palaven, then?" Thane asked. "I tried reaching Garrus as well, but none of my attempts were successful."

"You know it'd take more than Reapers to take down Archangel," Imani said, smiling. "He's fine. He's even the Hierarchy's point man on the Reapers, now. We picked him up on Menae along with the new Primarch, for that summit I just mentioned," she explained.

If Imani hadn't glanced up from her menu at that very moment, she might have missed it or mistaken it for something else; but she did, and she saw Thane's furrowed brow ridges relax considerably. He exhaled, and his eyes were shut for a brief moment, as he muttered a prayer too low for her to hear. When they opened, they were shining in the dim mood lighting around them, unmistakably soft and gentle. “Is he on the Normandy, then?" Thane asked, at last.

“Yeah. We stopped here to refuel and to grab some dextro supplies, actually, since we didn't want to overtax the Menae base….they were stretched pretty thin. Garrus should still be at the main turian refugee camp down at the docks. When I left him he was coordinating the relief efforts there, trying to get people assistance," Imani explained, and that warm feeling of pride in him washed over her again. She'd always known that Garrus was a good man with a big heart--it was part of why she fell so hard for him--but if there was a single silver lining to all this death and tragedy, it was seeing that he'd really come into his own, and carried his hefty responsibilities with a kind of grace and strength of which Imani always knew he was capable. He'd come so far from the hot headed cowboy cop clashing heads with his C-Sec superiors that he once was, much less the broken vigilante who only sought vengeance and his own demise in Omega.

Glancing sidelong at her other beloved, Imani wondered if Thane thought much the same about Garrus. The warmth in his eyes, and the relieved smile upon his lips—among other things—made her wonder.

But there were a lot of questions running through Imani's mind, and only most of them were about the cherished pair of men in her life. What to order off the menu was comparatively less fraught, so she went there first. "Hey, I've never had drell cuisine before. What do you recommend?" Imani asked.

"Bread service is the traditional start to the meal. The one served here is exceptional," Thane replied. "The ashkal here is similarly good--almost as good as Irikah's," he added, with a faint, nostalgic smile.

"What's ashkal?"

"Ah. Humans call it Curry Rakhana. A thick, spicy stew of meat, root vegetables and greens. We eat it over rice," Thane said. He let go of her hand under the table, and flicked through his menu until he reached the described dish. Imani's mouth was soon watering just from the picture.

"That sounds amazing. I could really go for some of that," she said, as she pressed the order button.

After a moment of scrolling through and making a number of selections from the menu, they both rested the pads on the table, and Thane stretched out to wrap his arm around Imani's shoulders. She smiled, leaning against him, and was thankful he'd decided on a booth like that.

"How are you holding up in all of this, siha?" Thane asked, his voice soft with concern.

It was a difficult question to answer, truthfully. Imani really hadn't had time to stop and breathe until now. Everything from that initial attack on Vancouver onward seemed like a hazy blur of gunfire, biotic charges, and explosions. There was so much to do, and so much riding on her, that she hadn't had much time to think about her own feelings. And until Garrus showed up, like a light in the darkness, no one had really asked about them.

Imani shut her eyes, taking comfort in the warmth of Thane's body, so familiar and strong. "It feels like Mindoir, sometimes,” she said, “Only it's fifty times worse, and I never thought that'd be possible. I'm doing my best not to think about it. But it's hard, Thane. Focusing on the mission helps, but in the dark of night, when I'm alone? The scale of it hits me. Not even those awful visions from the Prothean beacon could have prepared me for the reality of it. And it's only going to get worse," she answered.

Thane squeezed her tightly against him, and she felt a kiss upon her soft curls, tender and sweet. "I'm sure you're doing everything possible, siha. What's your plan? I've heard rumors of resources being pooled for some massive Alliance project."

“It’s…sort of classified. It's a long shot, but we think it’s our best and only chance at stopping the Reapers, and frankly it's all we've got," Imani said.

Thane kissed her hair again. "The odds were against us beyond the Omega-4 Relay too," he pointed out.

Imani smiled a bit ruefully, resting her head against his. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. It helped having people to count on, though. Truth is, we could seriously use a man with your talents again, Thane. And I miss you. Will you come back to the Normandy?"

"I wish I could, siha," Thane sighed; when he did, Imani felt the proverbial elephant in the room casting a long shadow over them both. Could it have really been anything else, to keep him from leaping back into the fray at her side again? But...she hadn't heard him cough once during their conversation, and there was the issue of _her_ needing air before he did when they kissed--something entirely not normal for them.

She didn't want to pry, but she wanted to know what was going on with him.

"How're you feeling, Thane? Health-wise, I mean?" Imani asked.

Naturally, that was when the server, a quiet and unassuming young human, poured them tall glasses of water, and shortly after brought out a tray to set the first part of the feast on their table: a plate of warm flatbreads that looked a lot like naan to Imani, and a myriad of small bowls filled with an eclectic variety of what seemed like dipping sauces in a rainbow of colors and variety of textures.

Imani’s eyes grew wide, and her stomach began growling a little, the scent of warm spices filling her senses and tweaking her hunger further.

When the server left, Thane offered her the plate of bread. “It’s customary to use one’s hands for this course,” he explained, with a smile. Imani nodded, and moved a pair of the flatbreads to her plate. Thane did likewise, then pointed out the various sauces, explaining to her what they were.

“This is…I suppose one could compare it somewhat to your human raita? It’s made from yogurt, pureed vegetables, and fresh herbs. It’s mild and cool, meant to soothe the palate when eating more piquant fare. Courses run concurrently, in a traditional meal,” Thane said, spooning out a bit of creamy green sauce onto his plate. He pointed to the small bowl next to it, adding, “this one, by contrast, is a spicy and sweet paste made of sun-dried kirada chiles.”

Naturally, _that_ was the one Imani decided to try first. All she needed to hear was, “spicy”. When she scooped some of the bright yellow paste onto her plate, Thane turned to her with brow ridges raised at her, a faintly concerned look in his eyes.

"Are you certain, siha? Humans sometimes find the heat of kirada too overwhelming for their palates,” he cautioned.

“Love, remember who you’re talking to. My dad was half-Indian, and the Black half got to Oakland from New Orleans. We grew ghost peppers back on Mindoir. I keep hot sauce in my omni-tool. Pretty sure it’s in my blood too, actually," Imani said, breaking off a piece of flatbread.

Thane chuckled softly, shrugging in defeat. “A fair point. Perhaps I thought too much of Miranda,” he said.

“Remember that time Gardner made chili and she nearly died?” Imani asked, giggling. She felt his body tense up beside her.

“ _‘What on Earth did you put in this, Sergeant?’ Lawson snaps at Gardner. Sweat pours down her face, once pale, now a bright shade of angry crimson. She indignantly rises from her seat, panting breathlessly, and flies to the refrigerator as if she were Imani on a biotic charge. With little thought it seems for her professional dignity, she takes a container of milk, tears off the lid, and raises it to her lips, drinking it between muttered epithets as she storms back to her quarters.’"_

Imani threw her head back, overcome with cackling laughter; half at the recalled memory, and half at herself for making such a silly turn of phrase with Thane. Of course he remembered. He remembered everything, after all.

Thane exhaled, and returned to dipping his own flatbread; when he spoke again, his voice was no longer that breathless monotone, but its normal cadence. “That ship held some of my best memories,” he said, a bit wistfully.

“Then why won’t you come back?” she asked. “I really don’t want to pry, but…you never answered my question. How are you doing?”

He chewed in silence for a long moment, and if Imani didn’t know any better, she’d think he was using the food as a distraction. But then he sighed deeply, and turned to face her. “Siha, please forgive me. I was not entirely forthcoming with you about my future plans, when we parted some months ago,” Thane began, his brows furrowed low and tense.

Imani stared at him. “What do you mean?”

“I did return to Kahje, as I said I would. But it was not my ultimate destination,” he answered. He blinked with agonizing slowness, lids clamping shut, the inner and then the outer by turns. “I spoke at length with Mordin before his own departure from the Normandy. He invited me to meet him there, on Sur’Kesh. It seemed he still had top level clearance with the Special Tasks Group, and with it, access to their most cutting-edge research facilities. A wealth of classified scientific data was at his disposal.”

“He wanted to find you a cure,” Imani said quietly. Eyes still shut, Thane sighed once more.

“Siha, it was no hyperbole when I told you that even the greatest minds among the Illuminated Primacy could not find a cure for Kepral’s syndrome. I did not believe Mordin would succeed where so many had previously failed, and even he himself promised nothing. But it was desperation that drove me to accept his offer. I could no longer passively accept my fate, or my body’s death. Things would have been far simpler had I perished on our mission. However, I did not.”

Imani didn’t have to be a drell to remember that night before what they all believed a suicide mission, or the trembling in Thane’s body as he wept and cursed his fear. She’d never forget the way he kissed her, as if he were terrified it would be the last time, or the way she told him that it was alright to be afraid, but for just one moment in time...just let go of it, and be alive with her, for one night, even if that was all they would ever have left, whether it would be the fault of Collectors or Reapers or terminal illness. And they were, by all the gods on heaven and earth and the underworld of the sea. They were both alive that night, reborn in ways neither of them could ever imagine. And then they did the impossible, together. With Garrus, and all of their comrades. Because they trusted love over fear, and seized that moment with all they had.

So, in the end, it wasn’t anger that Imani felt at his lie of omission; she couldn’t feel anger for Thane, not for this. A brief pang of sorrow, maybe, that somehow fear had won out for him after all, or that he didn’t trust her enough, even after everything they’d been through together. But even then, she firmly cast those thoughts aside. He had to have had his reasons, she believed that with all her heart, despite her wounded pride. All she wanted was to understand them.

She reached up with her hand, and stroked Thane’s cheek, cupping it with her palm, her thumb gently brushing his frills. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked softly.

“Siha...” He sighed, lowering his head, and with it his gaze, closing his eyes.

“Look at me, Thane,” Imani said, and pressed her lips against his cheek with an aching tenderness. No judgment, no condemnation. Only tenderness.

Helpless beneath her touch, Thane opened his dark eyes, big and luminous even in the dim light, and they stood with tears. “It seems so foolish now, sitting beside you once again, hale and strong. Mordin succeeded, in the end, and all my fears were rendered moot. But, I suppose...I sought to protect you. The chance of a breakthrough was slim, at best. Perhaps, too, it was selfishness. I couldn’t bear the guilt of you fretting over me, while you were facing court martial. And I did not wish to give you false hope for the improbable. I loved you too much, and you've faced so much loss in your life as it is.”

Thane swallowed hard, and exhaled deeply through his nose, and Imani ran her thumb along his frills in a gentle stroke of reassurance. His sense of nobility was one of the many reasons beyond counting that she loved him so much. But it was misplaced this time, and she needed him to understand that. The cornerstone of their relationship was honestly, regardless of consequence. It had to be.

“Thane, I can’t be angry with you for that. I know you meant well. But I’m a grown woman. You don’t have to protect me from the truth, and I’d never ask that of you,” Imani said. “Didn’t you think I’d be fretting anyway? I was worried about you regardless. There wasn’t a day that passed in that tiny apartment when I didn’t think about you or wonder how you were doing. Knowing the truth wouldn’t have changed anything, except given me something more specific to pray for besides dead Batarian civilians. Hope is hope, love. We all need it, in the dark of night. Some days it’s the only thing that keeps me going.”

“I realize that now,” Thane said, sighing again. “Please, forgive me.”

“It’s alright,” Imani said, flashing him her most dazzling smile. It was genuine, as always where Thane was concerned, but never so much as now. No matter what the future held for them in this terrible war, at the very least, Kepral’s would no longer be the lurking shadow threatening to steal what time they might have, and that was a gift beyond price.

"You're not upset with me, then?" Thane asked, mildly startled. She could almost see the wave of relief that washed over him, the line of tension in his frilled jaw easing before her eyes.

“How could I be upset? I prayed every day for you, to your gods and mine. And it worked, didn't it? You're okay, and that's all that matters. It's all I ever hoped for," Imani said. She kissed him again, soundly, and it felt better perhaps than it ever had. Whatever else happened, Thane was well. And the certainty of that, of his renewed strength, gave _her_ more strength than perhaps either of them realized. Imani would need all she could get.

“The gods were indeed merciful,” Thane agreed, returning her smile. It was lighter than before, brighter. The depth of affection in his big, pretty eyes was almost too much to bear. "I feared I would never get to do that again."

“So...isn't this the part where we eat, drink, and make merry to celebrate?” Imani asked. She picked up the tall glass of water, and held it aloft with a sidelong grin.

“I’ll toast to that,” Thane said, smiling. He took up his own glass, and gently clinked it against hers, before taking a long, satisfied drink.

Imani did the same, and the aromas filling her senses were all the encouragement she needed to make with the other part of the celebration. She retrieved the piece of flatbread she'd previously broken off, and uninterrupted this time, swirled it into the spicy yellow sauce Thane called kirada.

Truthfully it wasn't so bad when it first hit her tongue, smoky and with a faint hint of sweetness. Imani knew better, though, than to judge something spicy on the first bite. Sure enough, after a moment or two, what was a slow, easy burn built and ignited, until it was like someone had fired an incendiary round into her mouth. Her whole face, really--it was burning, and leaking by turns. She was fervently grateful then that her makeup was waterproof.

That's how Imani knew something was good: if it threatened your makeup, it had just the right kind of heat.

"That's a nice kick," she said casually, and reached next for the drell raita, cooling down her smoothed tongue with mint and cucumber. There were some unfamiliar notes in it, but it was really good too--it reminded her more of tzatziki, actually.

For his part, Thane was rendered speechless. "I've never seen a human eat kirada like that before. Anyone else would have collapsed screaming onto the floor by now," he said at last, with no small amount of awe.

"Told you," Imani said, after swallowing another mouthful. "Anyway, it's probably the cybernetics too. This isn't the only drell substance that doesn't have much effect on me, remember?"

She flashed a cheeky grin at him, and Thane coughed lightly, turning a shade of bright violet, while he reached for his water. It was impish of her, admittedly, but she thought he sort of had it coming after grabbing her ass the way he did. Imani always got a kick out of flustering him; it was famously hard to do, given his cool sense of composure, and it made her feel more than a little smug whenever she did.

“I’m not likely to forget, siha,” Thane said dryly, narrowing his gaze, and impishly tapped his temple with a faintly ironic smile passing his lips.

“That was bad,” Imani said, giggling softly in spite of it.

“Thank you,” Thane said, beaming.

The next course arrived, then: an enormous platter of grilled meat skewers resting on a bed of fragrant rice, served with bowls of what appeared to be pickled vegetables and a salad of finely chopped fruits and herbs. It was a family-sized platter clearly meant to be shared by at least four…or two biotics.

Particularly hungry biotics.

Truth be told, Imani hadn't had a decent meal since before the flight from Earth. The food from the mess in Vancouver wasn't too bad, but rations on Alliance ships weren't nearly as fancy as the gourmet kit the Illusive Man paid for. If there was a single thing Imani missed about the Lazarus Cell, it was the food--and the coffee.

Alliance coffee sucked.

Ever the gentleman, Thane offered Imani a portion first, arranging meat and rice and accoutrements on her plate in an artful sort of way that made her feel a bit guilty about how she planned to decimate it. The smell was incredible, all earthy spice and wood fired smoke; it tasted even better, the meat tender enough to melt in her mouth, succulent and the perfect shade of medium rare on the inside. To Imani’s credit, she managed to remember some kind of decorum despite her ravenous hunger, and worked with methodical precision, fueled by her curiosity about drell cuisine. It was at once strange but familiar, echoing some of the flavors she’d grown up with. There was a faint floral note to the rice that was unusual to her, but she thought that it complimented the other flavors perfectly. There were grilled vegetables steeped in a vinegary sauce that became almost sweet when mixed with the rice. Imani couldn’t get enough of it, truth be told—it was easily the best meal she’d had in months, if not years.

The company she passed it in certainly helped. Breaking proverbial bread together in this quiet, lovely restaurant, it was altogether too easy for the pain and chaos of the war outside to fade away. And as they snuggled against each other in the confines of a cozy little booth, Imani remembered what it meant to be happy again. She felt a certain lightness of spirit, smiling as she enjoyed the simple pleasures of warm conversation over a good meal, and relished with quiet laughter Thane’s bone dry wit, so welcome after these long months apart. And beyond his sense of quiet elegance, she delighted in his myriad little idiosyncrasies, ones she never even realized she’d missed about him, like the prim way he folded the fine linen of his napkin just so when wiping the corners of his generous mouth, and the slow, double blink of pleasure coupled with a low, near-purring sound he made whenever he savored a morsel he especially liked. She playfully stole bites of the spicy, savory curry he called ashkal from his plate, and he offered more on a fork with a wry and flirtatious grin.

In so many ways, in the simple joy of being with him, Imani was reminded why precisely she fell in love with Thane in the first place, and all her worries from before seemed so trivial and unfounded. It felt as though they’d never even been apart.

“How’s Kolyat doing? Have you kept in touch?” Imani asked, as she swirled a well-spiced piece of roasted cauliflower in the drell raita.

Thane’s answering smile was like the sun rising at midnight, his dark and soulful eyes grown luminous with an unmistakable sparkle.

“Quite well, actually. He completed his community service shortly before my recovery on Sur’Kesh was complete, and afterwards we spent some time together on Intai’sei.” Thane reached over and stroked Imani’s hand, sending goosebumps along her arm; it amazed her how much she simply missed being touched by him. “I never thanked you for the gift of your place there. We made good use of it.”

“Oh, it’s alright. Half the time I forgot I even had it, to be honest. I only spent a little time there after the battle for the Citadel, and then...”

Imani trailed off a bit awkwardly. Admiral Ahern’s old apartment was nice enough, but she never truly made use of it, between the far flung patrols the Council sent her on to hunt down geth. There _was_ the weekend she took leave there, with Kaidan...

Then the Collectors happened.

Imani took a long, cool drink of citrus-flavored water, firmly shoving aside those painful memories. “So things are going well with you two?”

“We made the most of the solitude and had some good conversations. In a way, we simply had to get to know one another again. Kolyat has a great deal of anger bottled up inside—entirely justified. But he’s willing to work through it, and begin anew. I believe we’re in a good place to start fresh, and rebuild,” Thane replied.

She nodded, and exhaled a little sigh of relief. Despite her own litany of issues to deal with, Kolyat was never too far from Imani’s thoughts. While the circumstances were obviously different, she understood the boy’s anger all too well. Maybe Imani saw more than a little of her adolescent self in him, grieving a lost family and unable to cope with the anger of being abandoned, however it happened.

“I’m glad, Thane. For both your sakes,” Imani said with a warm smile.

Thane returned it, beaming. “It feels strange to say it, but getting arrested was perhaps the best thing that could have happened to him. He’s been inspired by the service he performed, in a profound way,” he said, reaching into his pocket and retrieving a small, sleek tin. “Upon his return to the Citadel, he enrolled in C-Sec Academy. It seems my son wishes to pursue a career on the better side of the law.” He opened the tin, and casually took a small white capsule from it; he slid it between his lips, and took a quick sip from his tall water glass, then shut his eyes against a sudden fit of mirth. “Somewhere upon the distant shore, Irikah must be laughing,” he mused softly, with a light chuckle.

Imani never knew Kolyat’s late, beloved mother, but she had to think Thane was right. Hell, _she_ wanted to laugh—the son of the most notorious drell assassin of his generation, becoming a cop?

“Well, you said you didn’t want him following in your footsteps,” Imani pointed out, with a snicker.

“True. Still, it came as something of a shock. At first, I feared it was typically adolescent rebellion, or impulsiveness...but he seems sincere, and committed to this path. I gave him my blessing, for whatever it meant.”

“How exactly does a kid go from dodging an attempted assassination charge to joining the most elite police force in the galaxy though? Bailey can’t possibly have that kind of pull,” Imani said, her mind alight with curiosity. After all, it had been enough of a struggle to get his charges downgraded to trespassing and simple criminal mischief, and a member of a client species like the drell wouldn’t have gotten a foot through the Academy door with a _clean_ record, much less one who nearly killed a powerful turian politician. Imani knew that much from her many conversations with Garrus on C-Sec.

Thane’s mouth curved into an affectionate smile as he swirled the pale red hanar wine in his other glass. “Bailey isn’t the only friend he had on the inside. It seems a certain turian of our acquaintance pulled some strings, and stood surety for him,” he explained, and took a long, satisfied drink.

Imani returned his smile with a knowing one of her own. She wasn’t surprised at all, not with knowing Garrus as well as she did. As much as he groused about the force, the superiors he clashed with, and all the infernal red tape that Citadel politics made necessary, Garrus still had deep connections in C-Sec. And Imani had no doubt he’d use them on Kolyat’s behalf. For all his Archangel swagger, Garrus had a soft spot for kids—and for Thane. If Thane’s son needed anything at all, Garrus would do anything he could. He was as concerned as any of them about the kid, and Imani knew he had more reasons to feel that way than most other people realized.

Maybe, like Imani, he’d also seen more than a little of himself in that boy—one who’d been estranged from his workaholic father and was desperate to try and connect with him, somehow, even if their methods had been wildly different. It certainly seemed that way in Bailey’s office, that night, when he argued on Kolyat’s behalf more passionately than she and Thane combined; enough that even Bailey jokingly asked if Garrus was the kid’s other father.

It made Imani grin, thinking back on it.

“He’s a far better man than he gives himself credit for,” Thane said softly. He’d polished off most of the curry by then, idly dipping the remnants of the flatbread in it.

Imani’s grin spread wider, but she said nothing, just nodded her agreement and drank her citrus water, savoring its refreshing coolness even as a sensation of warmth spread through her chest.

Dessert was served unobtrusively after the main course: a light, refreshing sorbet in a tart citrus flavor, which complimented her beverage nicely and did a lot to cool Imani’s palate down from the heavy spices. They made idle chatter about nothing much of import after that, simply enjoying one another’s company.

With thoughts of Garrus still on her mind, Imani pressed the unobtrusive holo button on the table to ask for the menu once more, and she scrolled through to the dextro menu, making a selection of skewers and curry. She was sure he’d love it as much as she did.  

“I promised Garrus I’d bring him some takeout,” Imani said by way of explanation. “Don’t worry, I’ll put it on my—”

“That won’t be necessary, siha,” Thane gently cut in. “I’ll take care of it.”

True to his word, once dessert was done and the takeout containers arrived in a neat round bag, Thane silently picked up the tab for all of it, passing a small, sleek black credit chit to the server when she brought the bill pad. Imani fought the impulse to raise her eyebrow, merely watching casually as Thane imprinted his thumb scan and the transaction was completed, but internally, her mind was aflame with curiosity.

Imani had only ever seen a chit like that twice outside of vids: once when Miranda purchased an antique Italian violin for her sister, and again, when Liara took over the Shadow Broker’s personal accounts. Only one elite bank in the entire galaxy issued those black chits, and only then by strict invitation to the most wealthy and connected.

Thane had paid for their modestly priced lunch with one.

Imani waited until the server left to question him. “I don’t suppose _that's got_ anything to do with why you were being so evasive about coming back to the ship?” she asked in a low voice, glancing meaningfully at the small disc as Thane slipped it back into his pocket. “Just what have you been up to, in between getting treated in a top secret STG facility and flashing Black Palladium chits?”

“Not here,” Thane replied quietly, near under his breath.

“The Normandy?” Imani asked; this time she _did_ raise her brows.

Thane snickered. “Persistent as ever, I see. I’m staying in a hotel nearby. I can explain there, if you wish.”

Imani wasn’t fond of this sudden evasiveness from him; truth be told, it wasn’t like him at all where she was concerned. She swallowed down her irritation as best she could, as she slid out from the booth and snatched up the bag with Garrus’ lunch. She told herself it had to be for a reason, that he must have been doing something incredibly classified that he couldn’t speak of in public--or at least not in a restaurant where he was evidently known by name. She didn’t exactly go into detail about the Crucible either, after all, and she knew he’d done wet work for the hanar government in the past. Considering it was likely the cause of his reluctance to join her team again though, and on the heels of his lies of omission, however well intentioned, it stung regardless.

Imani knew it was irrational, and the logical part of her—the N7 who literally made her career out of black ops work—was embarrassed by that knot of anger tying itself in her insides. But it still smarted anyway. She was still only human, despite being practically half synthetic from all the cybernetic implants in her body.

Thane, for his part, seemed concerned by her silence in the taxi, even though he was never one to fill it unnecessarily. He knew her too well by half. Though he didn’t fill it that time either, he drew close to her, wrapping his arm around her reassuringly, letting his comforting touch do what words couldn’t just then.

Imani’s sudden pique faded, even as her feelings of sheepishness grew. She had to trust him, she thought to herself, snuggling against him.

The skycab touched down soon after and landed in front of a towering needle of a skyscraper, and when the door lifted open, Thane exited first, extending his hand to Imani when he did to aid her from the car. She had to suppress a sardonic laugh when she noticed the hotel was actually a complex of twin towers, one of which appeared to still be under construction—the irony of it didn’t escape her at all, given where and when she and Thane first met.

At least this time, she didn’t have to climb over dead Eclipse mercs, mechs, and the damn roof to get to him, she thought silently.

“You can’t be serious,” Imani said aloud.

“It wasn’t intentional, I swear,” Thane said, tittering slightly under his breath. “The gods merely have a sense of humor.”

Imani smiled knowingly, and took his proffered arm; to the few people walking down the street, they might have been a stylish jet setting couple back to their luxury hotel after a day of sightseeing at an art gallery. It was a quiet hotel, too, understated and modern in its furnishings, all glass and clean, round lines. Without even knowing its name or seeing any staff as of yet, Imani thought it was quintessentially asari, just from its design aesthetic.

Sure enough, an asari concierge in a sleek black pantsuit greeted them with a crisp bow, as they approached her desk on the way to the elevator. “Welcome back, Sere Arainai,” she said. “And welcome, Commander Shepard. We hope you enjoy your time here at the Vistana.”

They nodded by way of polite, silent thanks, and Thane led Imani around the corner to a private elevator past the main bank, activating it with a nonchalant flick of his omni-tool. She glanced at him curiously as they stepped inside the circular glass tube, shooting high up to the sole floor it went to—the penthouse.

“Just how many aliases do you have...Sere ‘Arainai’?” Imani asked him.

Thane shut his eyes, laughing a bit softly to himself. “Quite a few. That one is merely the most disreputable.” His double lids opened slowly, with a faint twinkle of mischief in them. “It wouldn’t be out of place for _him_ to take a beautiful Council Spectre to the Matriarch’s Suite.”

Imani echoed his laughter, raising her free hand to her mouth, half covering her face as she did. “That why you brought me up here? To be...disreputable?”

She wiggled her sculpted brows at him, and his soft laughter grew louder then, echoing off the glass. It seemed to come so much easier to him now, this unfettered kind of laughter. It made her chest fill with warmth, and butterflies flutter in her stomach. That low level tension he used to always have seemed to have melted away, and she was glad for it.

“If you’d like,” Thane said, after the hardest bit died down.

Imani leaned into him, pressing her lips against the warm scales of his cheek. “I wish we had time for it,” she sighed.

“As do I,” he agreed. Thane squeezed her hand, and when the doors opened, he swept an arm before them both, and waited for her to exit the elevator first.

She made a low whistle, looking around the spacious suite that he opened with another subtle flick of his omni-tool. It shared the same sleek, modern aesthetic as the lobby, with immaculate glass surfaces and abstract art on the walls, black leather furniture and rugs with simple geometric patterns. The room furnishings almost looked more turian than what would typically be found in an asari hotel, but for all the rounded edges everywhere.

“Did this go on your Palladium chit too?” Imani asked him with a sardonic quirk of her brow.

Thane snorted quietly as he removed his leather trench and hung it inside a small closet in the entry hall; his boots followed, placed carefully upon the rack near the door, and Imani was suddenly reminded of another way that drell customs mirrored the ones she was raised with. “Not precisely. Can I offer you anything? Coffee, perhaps, or tea?”

Imani echoed his movements, slipping out of her heels to place them on the little rack, then walked further inside and set the takeout bag on the marble kitchen bar on her way to the leather sofa in the living room. “Tea sounds pretty good. But I’ll take it with a side of explanation, if you don’t mind,” she replied, as she settled down onto the cushions.

Meanwhile, Thane’s soft, rasping laughter echoed off the marble tiles in the kitchen. “I promise you that I’ve not been coy simply to torment you. I just couldn’t risk exposure in such a public fashion, particularly under my true identity. I’m too well known at Oasis,” Thane explained. Imani watched as he fussed with a kettle and a large tin, though his back was turned and she couldn’t quite see what it was inside. While he worked, she glanced down curiously at a round, sandstone oil burner resting upon the coffee table, which gave off a rich, sweet scent, though faint. Imani thought it smelled a lot like the argan oil in her shampoo, and then remembered it was sacred to Arashu, in her aspect as goddess of love and beauty.

After a brief moment, Thane strode across the suite, bearing two steaming glass mugs of a clear, violet-tinted drink with large mauve leaves swirling around in it. Handing one mug to Imani, he held the other between his hands, and sat down beside her. As she warmed her hands with her own mug and lifted it up to smell it, the crisp, clean scent of mint waffled up and filled her senses. It was definitely unexpected, given the strange color, and even more unexpected were the citrus notes and faint hint of salt that she tasted when the warm liquid hit the tip of her tongue. He hadn’t made it too hot to drink, either; just warm enough to bloom the leaves, and to steep them.

“This is great,” Imani said, after a long sip, closing her eyes to savor the light and fresh herbs for a moment.

“You’ve never had hanar tea before?” Thane asked, and Imani shook her head. “You’re meant to swirl it a bit before you drink,” he said. Imani did so, and watched the violet color deepen slightly, swirling darker clouds within the mug.

The next sip tasted quite a bit richer as result, and Thane smiled at her. “Pearlescence, so named for the shimmering deep sea trenches on Kahje in which the kelp leaves are cultivated.”

“It’s delicious,” Imani said, sinking deeper into the cushions with her mug. Thane set his down for a moment, though, and she raised a curious brow at him.

“Forgive me, but it will be only a moment,” Thane said somewhat apologetically, and rose from the couch to retrieve a very familiar looking sleek silver and blue box from the coffee table in front of them, after which he pressed a button on his omni-tool to engage the manufactory function.

Imani raised her eyebrows at him, as she watched the nanotech do its work, and a slim, tiny filter appeared in the palm of Thane’s hand. “You still have to do your treatments? I thought…” her sentence trailed off in a bit of confusion.

Thane nodded.

“Calling Mordin’s breakthrough an outright cure is somewhat…imprecise,” he explained. “Functionally, it serves as one. But he felt it the best course of action to continue my usual cocktail of medications just to be safe. Kepral’s is at its core a genetic condition, which is why it’s been so difficult to eradicate. Mordin could not rewrite my body’s fundamental code, but he could reengineer its response to it. It’s complex, and I confess I don’t understand it entirely myself, but what he did involved cybernetic implants to filter and break down the moisture which builds within my lungs. He used data from the Lazarus Project which EDI decrypted, in fact, though he obviously had to account for the at times stark differences between drell and human biology.” Thane’s smile was faintly ironic, though suitably warm. “Your resurrection was used as the blueprint for my own, siha.”

Then, he slipped the filter between his teeth, and a stunned Imani watched a series of colorful points light up on the nebulizer.

Thane always had a way of casually imparting profound revelations that knocked Imani on her ass, but this one was more profound than most. He leaned back, breathing far more deeply than Imani had ever seen from him, and faint clouds of mist swirled about his face, though the old faintly chemical odor of the vapors was far different now; sweeter now, almost like the scent of the oil.

“Really?” Imani whispered. The idea that Miranda’s handiwork had more far reaching implications than simply what was done for Imani was something she’d contemplated before, of course, but she’d never would have dreamed it could mean this for Thane. It was something else she’d have to thank her for.

And the gods.

Thane nodded, setting the vaporous clouds to swirling, with an impish grin. “I truly am like unto your Osiris, now, siha,” he said, after briefly removing the filter from his mouth, then returning it.

“Shiny metal dick and all?” Imani asked nonchalantly.

Thane spluttered laughing, and Imani smirked triumphantly into her tea.

“I’ve still got mine in a drawer back in my cabin. _Just sayin’_.”

Thane’s jovial expression crumbled at the joke, and he frowned, shutting his eyes to continue his cycle of deep breathing. Silence hung over them both as much as the misty exhalations from his treatment, though it was far thicker, and more pointed. Even here, away from prying eyes and sharp ears, she was no closer to understanding why he was so adamant about keeping away from the team--and from her--than she was in the restaurant.

It irritated Imani again, this evasiveness on his part, and she was stewing in that irritation as much as the sweet scent of oil and medicine. She tried to ignore it, stamp it down, and drank her tea, hoping the mint would cover the bitterness. It helped, but not entirely.

“Thane...we’re not in public anymore so you don’t have that excuse. If you really don’t want to come back to the Normandy, then fine. I’m sure you have a good reason. But at least tell me why. I think I’m owed that much. If it’s work, if it’s the way you feel about me—”

“It’s not about that,” Thane said sharply. “Do not ever doubt the way I feel about you, Imani. If I’ve given you cause for it, by my own guilt or cowardice, then I am truly sorry. But this is not about my own desire, far from it. Nothing would please me more than coming back to the Normandy, serving with our old comrades, and protecting you with all that I am. Would that I could. But I cannot. I must serve my homeworld right now; I’m working on a critical mission for the Primacy, and that is the _only_ thing keeping me away from you, I swear it.”

Some of the tension left Imani’s shoulders then, and she exhaled a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. “The Compact, then?” she asked.

Thane nodded. “In a manner of speaking,” he mumbled, muffled by the filter between his teeth. He reached over to shut off the nebulizer, and removed the device from his mouth for the final time, before waving his omni-tool over it to dissolve it. “After I took Kolyat back to the Citadel, I spoke with Garrus there, and he told me that he’d been in touch with his father about the Reaper threat. I took his lead and returned to Kahje to speak with my old employers about what I’d seen during our fight against the Collectors.” He paused. “I once worked for the Primacy, do you recall?”

“Kahje Intelligence. Yeah, I remember,” Imani replied.

Thane finally began to drink his tea, lifting the mug to his lips for a long sip before continuing. “The hanar—”

He was interrupted by a sudden knock at the door, and set his mug down, swiftly reaching beneath the sofa and pulling out a sleek pistol—military grade by the looks of it. He was at the entryway to the suite before Imani could blink, his omni-tool lighting the security panel with its holographic vid display.

Then, a very familiar voice sounded from the hallway, flanged with turian reverb and reeking of mischief.

“Room service!”

Imani looked sharply at Thane, who relaxed his grip and placed the pistol on a nearby glass side table, then waved the lock to turn it green from red. When the door slid open, Garrus stood at the threshold, leaning against the doorframe.

Thane chuckled. “Isn’t it customary to bring food or drink with room service?”

“Mine’ll just give you the runs. Anyway, sorry I’m late. There was an accident and traffic was diverted in Zakera, so my taxi had to take a detour. You know how crazy people drive in the Wards,” Garrus said.

Thane welcomed him with affable arms opened wide, then wrapped about him tightly; Garrus returned it, and they lingered a moment before parting. Drell then beckoned turian inside with a carelessly elegant gesture, and offered an arm to grasp as Garrus took his boots off by the shoe rack. It struck Imani, this casual intimacy they shared. It was downright domestic.

Garrus walked past Thane, then, looking curiously around the suite. “Speaking of crazy drivers, where’s our favorite lunatic tank girl?” he asked cheerfully.

“Over there.” Thane grinned, curving a hand toward the living room.

Imani pouted rather comically. She was delighted to see Garrus of course, but the exchange left her rather confused as an understatement. She got up from the sofa to greet him with a curious head tilt. “Hey hotshot. What are you doing here, though?”

Garrus bent down and brushed his mouth against her cheek. “Sorry for crashing your date, but Thane messaged me a little while ago wanting to meet up.” He looked around again. “I was told there was food.”

Imani laughed ruefully. “Okay guys. We have _got_ to work on this communication thing,” she said. “Anyway it’s on the counter. I wasn’t sure what you wanted since they don’t serve nuggets. So I just got you every kind of meat they had.”

“ _I love you so much_ ,” Garrus said, hugging her tightly. Imani giggled, and kissed his cheek, nudging him towards the sofa.

There was a lot more laughter then, and Thane joined in, affectionately patting Garrus’ shoulder with a lingering squeeze as he went to the kitchen and grabbed Garrus a plate for his food. He thoughtfully arranged the skewers and rice, drizzling colorful sauces atop it from the little containers inside the bag in much the same way he prepared Imani’s plate at the restaurant. She marveled at it, really, the way he put such care into it, watching it unfold from the living room.

“What will you have to drink?” Thane asked from the kitchen. “I have a dextro variety of Pearlescence if you’d like some as well.”

“Something a little stronger than tea. Maybe one of those fancy hanar wines. Never did get any, last time,” Garrus drawled. Thane snickered a bit wickedly, and Imani wondered if she were missing some kind of inside joke.

Thane obliged, however, and brought him a slender flute of pale pink wine along with his plate, sitting it on the coffee table in front of Garrus before he returned to Imani’s side, sinking back into the leather cushions with his neglected tea. Garrus devoured the drell skewers rather enthusiastically, making delighted little moans of pleasure that made Imani want to laugh again as he did.

“Damn, this is good stuff,” Garrus said, between mouthfuls of rice. “I mean, to be fair, I’ve been living on turian field rations for the past month, and dirt would probably taste good in comparison. But this is really, really good.”

Imani giggled that time. “I can relate. The Vancouver commissary is only a little better.”

“Thanks, you two. For thinking of me,” Garrus said.

Thane cradled his mug in a palm after taking a casual sip. “It’s nothing, ash’er _._ I’m merely thankful we had the chance.”

The rightness of the moment warmed Imani as much as the hanar tea did. She’d dreamed about this, back under lockdown, on the loneliest of nights, when it seemed as if she’d never get to do this again—that she’d never get to just _be_ with them again, like this, taking simple pleasure in the company of the men she cherished most. She didn’t need much else, not where Garrus and Thane were concerned. For all Steven did his level best to ease that loneliness, it wasn’t the same. Good, in its own way, comforting in his own way, but it was a different kind of intimacy she shared with “her boys”, as she affectionately thought of them.

The memory of all those times they’d spent together, through laughter and fierce combat and tears, was what helped keep her going through the worst of it. And it was never just about the way she felt with Thane, or with Garrus—yes, there was a special and unique dynamic she shared with each of them in turn, but somewhere along the line, they’d ceased to become singular entities in her head. They weren’t Garrus Vakarian, her best friend and partner, and Thane Krios, her spiritual rock.

Instead, they were Garrus-and-Thane, a dynamic duo if there ever was one, the cocky turian and smooth drell who always had each other’s backs as much as they’d had hers, literally and figuratively. They might playfully bicker over kill counts and technique, but there was always a tender word, a smile, an affectionate laugh, to let the other know it wasn’t serious. They razzed each other like old comrades, and cared for each other like old friends.

They were there for each other, as much as each of them were for Imani.

They just fit together, was the thing. Imani was just the catalyst for it, the spark to light it. They belonged together. Imani felt it in her bones, and never more than when she saw the way Thane beamed at Garrus, just watching him eat a plate of food. She just _knew_ , and long before they ever had—before they’d grappled with each other in the shuttle bay and removed all doubt from her mind. There was a reason she’d rather casually suggested a few months ago that they both catch a shuttle at a spaceport she knew was under massive delays. It was the same reason why what little doubt may have remained was erased with the ease with which Thane patted Garrus’ shoulder on the way to the kitchen, and the way Garrus’ body grew warm in response.

Something had changed between them, Imani knew as much, and it wasn’t hard to guess what it was.

Imani wasn’t pushy, though, for all the power bottom jokes they both liked to make about her. She’d let them come to it in their own time, in their own way. There was a lot on all their plates--more than just insanely delicious drell curry.

Even so…

“You were telling me what you’re up to, Thane,” Imani said pointedly. “I refuse to get interrupted again.”

Thane laughed sheepishly, and smoothed his free hand across his head. “I suppose I do owe you the explanation I promised. Forgive me. As I said before, I made a report to my employers about our mission. Not merely what we’d seen beyond the Omega-4 Relay, but everything that led to it. They brought it to the Primacy. And the hanar, it would seem, took the Reaper threat far more seriously than your Alliance or the Council did. I was given a new commission as a result, and tasked with doing whatever was necessary to secure Kahje and its colonies against the coming threat. I assembled an elite task force to this aim, and was granted the highest level of clearance and unlimited resources.”

“You got a task force too? Why is it every time I do something, you’ve got to one up me?” Garrus muttered. “The Primarch didn’t give _me_ a Black Palladium.”

“My apologies, ash’er. It was not my intention,” Thane said, with a perfectly deadpan expression. “It is not precisely the same, however. I recruited the most skilled biotics, tech experts, intelligence analysts, infiltration specialists and saboteurs. For a man accustomed to working alone for so long, it was a strange thing. You must understand, assassins are solitary creatures by nature and necessity. We aren’t soldiers, and we answer only to our employers. It is one thing to rely upon contacts while hunting a target, but quite another to be entrusted with command—to be agent and commissioner. But perhaps not so strange after our time together, siha. You were my inspiration, and I looked to your example. Yours—and that of a certain Archangel. Drell assassins are a great deal like feral cats, but against the odds we’re a brotherhood now: the Kira’lah, named for the sons of Amonkira in the ancient legends of my people. They were great hunters of demons, and I thought it apropos.”

Garrus snorted and shook his head in disgust. “You just had to one up me.”

It was so petulant, the sound he made, that Imani started to laugh again. “Hey, we’re in this together, aren’t we? It’s not a competition. We need all the help we can get,” she said, patting Garrus’ thigh. She turned back to Thane, then. “What made you think of a team, though, all things considered?”

Thane smiled at her. “Our time together on the Normandy taught me many things, but particularly the importance of having a diversity of talent at one’s disposal when facing an uncommonly powerful threat. Our final mission in particular illustrated this well…it was a success because of our individual talents, and because you deployed them where it made the most sense, playing to our strengths to benefit the whole. If even one of us had not been present, in the place you intended, I do not believe it would have been so successful,” he mused.

“Right. Especially the Fire Squad leader,” Garrus added. Thane’s smile turned sly, but quite fond.

“He did an exceptionally good job, yes. However, this is not historically the way drell assassins have operated in the past, government commissioned or otherwise. We were never organized as such, to this degree. The Primacy relied upon us as lone agents, working toward clandestine aims for our handlers, and having little to do with one another. The more cynical among us would say this was a matter of fear, but I don’t believe that’s the case. And though we are all assassins, we each have our individual strengths—and weaknesses. Together, we are far stronger as a unit, pooling our gifts, than we are as lone actors. Our ancestors believed this as well, when they were nomads in the deserts of Rakhana; they always hunted together, in groups. Thus, the Kira’lah embody this ancient wisdom, and so far, things have gone well for us. We’ve largely focused our operations on disrupting Cerberus, since the Reapers have yet to enter hanar space. It is only a matter of time until they do, however.”

“Is that what brought you to the Citadel?” Garrus asked, as he polished off his plate and leaned back, stretching his arm around Imani.

Thane nodded. “Besides news of the Normandy’s arrival, yes. A while ago, I received some disturbing intel courtesy an old friend of ours-- with dire implications for Kahje’s planetary security. The Kira’lah have been diligently working to untangle its threads, and this task has brought me here.”

“And that’s why you can’t come back with us,” Imani said softly.

“As I said, I would love nothing more than to do so. But I cannot—not until this matter is resolved. I assume I don’t need to tell either of you that what I’m about to say cannot leave this hotel room,” Thane said darkly.

“Your secret’s safe with us, Thane. Who’s the old friend, anyway?” Garrus asked.

“Do you recall Imani’s daring heist on Bekenstein, and the prize which Kasumi sought from Donovan Hock’s vault?”

Garrus nodded. “Her boyfriend’s graybox, right.”

Imani raised her eyebrows. “The same graybox that we talked her into destroying? Because it contained damning information that implicated the Alliance in something bad enough to get humanity kicked off the Council?”

“Yes. I received an encrypted message around two months ago, on the old Lazarus Cell channel we used, containing information gleaned from that graybox. Kasumi’s curiosity got the better of her, before she destroyed it. It seems that what she found within poses a threat not merely to your people, siha, but also to mine,” Thane replied gravely. “Some decades ago, there were rumors that the Batarian Hegemony discovered a derelict, genetically engineered starship orbiting the planet Dis. Having been aboard the Derelict Reaper during our mission, I have no doubt this was in truth another such Reaper corpse. But the Primacy discovered that the batarians built a research station for the purpose of studying technology recovered from this alleged Prothean vessel. As a gesture of goodwill towards the newest Council species, the hanar offered this intel to the human Systems Alliance. I shouldn’t need to tell you that it all ended catastrophically.”

Imani sat stunned, leaning against Garrus for support, as Thane filled in the details. It was like something out of a convoluted spaceport thriller novel: mysterious Reaper tech of unknown origin, an Alliance black ops mission gone horribly wrong, a silent massacre, a cover-up.

Convoluted, yes, but entirely believable. Imani had lived to see Dr. Kenson’s Project come to fruition, after all. Besides, there had been rumors for years that the batarians had somehow gotten their hands on illegal Prothean technology in violation of Council mandates, and that they were attempting to weaponize it to use against human colonies in the Verge. Knowing what Imani did now, it was all too easy to believe the batarians got hold of Reaper tech instead, and that the Alliance would do anything to make sure they never got to use it on Alliance colonies. Hell, before Imani made her reports on the Collectors and was debriefed upon turning herself in, even Anderson believed the batarians were the ones responsible for the human disappearances in the Terminus Systems. They’d been the closest thing to a boogeyman humans had known since the First Contact War brought their species to the galactic stage--Imani knew that all too well.

“I don’t get where the hanar figure into something like that, though. Why not just go to the Council with something like that?” Garrus asked. “Black ops are hardly the first thing that come to mind when you say ‘hanar’.”

“That’s uncharacteristically naive, Garrus. You were C-Sec, were you not? The Council is loath to antagonize a rogue regime like the Hegemony. A token investigation and toothless sanctions with little effect on an already harshly-sanctioned species would have been all the Primacy could have hoped for as a response from the Citadel to such a matter. Besides, Kahje’s military forces are perishingly small. The Primacy relies largely on diplomacy and subterfuge to protect its interests. And the Alliance has been more forthcoming than the other Council races in advancing hanar interests, even in so short a time. It’s not so farfetched if you know the hanar the way I do,” Thane said.

Imani rubbed her temples. “Alright. So Keiji Okuda somehow got hold of this information, slipped it into his graybox, and encrypted his own memories to protect it. Kasumi leaked it to you. That still doesn’t explain why your team is involved in this. What happened?”

“The inevitable result of too much exposure to Reaper technology. Every one of the score of hanar and drell operatives present during that ill-fated raid became indoctrinated,” Thane answered, clenching his teeth. “These were no mere assassins and diplomats, siha. These were elite intelligence agents with ties to those in the greatest positions of power within the Primacy itself. Imagine the implications for the Alliance should your Admiral Hackett be indoctrinated—or you—and you may begin to understand the gravity of the situation we’re facing. The Kira’lah have been tasked with uncovering the identities of the compromised agents who took part in that raid, and neutralizing the threat they pose. We have already discovered several of them, but too many yet remain, and time grows short. I have reason to believe at least a few of them have infiltrated the hanar diplomatic delegation here, on the Citadel.”

“That would explain why they’re suddenly refusing to help Earth. I thought they were being just as stubborn as everyone else,” Imani muttered.

“Siha, I do not wish to take advantage of your position here, knowing what your people are facing right now. But if—”

Imani raised her hand, flicking her wrist in dismissal. “You don’t even have to ask, Thane. Spectres have our own channels. I’ll keep my ear to the ground, and if I hear anything at all, you’ll be the first to know,” Imani vowed. She smiled a bit smugly. “And, hey, we’ve got the Shadow Broker on board the Normandy. She owes you a few favors if nothing else. I’ll ask her to keep an eye out for any suspicious chatter.”

Thane sighed in visible relief, and rose from his seat. “You have my sincere thanks, Imani,” he said.

Garrus shook his head, as Thane reached over to lift his empty plate and glass off the table, and took them both to the kitchen, balancing the empty tea mugs upon it with the practiced grace of a server. “I don’t mean to sound callous, Thane, but even if you do manage to take out the indoctrinated traitors in the ranks, you really think Kahje’s going to be alright? The Reapers are…well, I’m sure you’ve seen the vids of Palaven by now. And they don’t do the reality of it justice,” the turian said.

Thane froze a moment upon loading the dishwasher, then rested his hands flat upon the counter, his lips pursed, his eyes wide with thought. “Knowing what we do of their tactics, a ground invasion seems unlikely. There is little land to cover, and...our harvesting potential seems limited. The hanar are limited at best on land, and my own people are too few to be of use to them,” he answered grimly.

“How solid are your orbital defenses?” Garrus asked. “We’re hard put as it is, but I think we can spare some engineers if you need help.”

“Your offer is greatly appreciated, but the system is entirely automated. And we have reason to believe that at least one of the indoctrinated operatives we’ve been hunting is in possession of the access codes.”

Imani swallowed hard, wrapping her arms about her stomach. “Gods, Thane…”

"Now you understand the severity of our mission,” Thane said. “There are a multitude of deep-sea shelters buried in the deepest trenches on the planet, believed to have been constructed by the Protheans. They are well-protected, and have room enough to spare. Our civilian population is being evacuated even as we speak; we know that with the turians under threat, our small fleet stands little chance. However, should our automated defense system fail to withstand an orbital bombardment--or worse, if it’s somehow compromised--we may lose entire cities. And regardless, an extended siege may strain our resources, particularly if and when Kahje’s supply chains are disrupted. Our people will fare far better than most in this war, but if it drags on…”

He clamped his eyes shut, his hands curling into tight fists as they did. Imani and Garrus both knew the implications of what he said, even if he couldn’t bring himself to say it.

“I cannot return to the Normandy,” Thane said quietly, at last, upon opening his eyes once more; they shone with conviction. “We drell, those who’ve been chosen…we serve the Compact not out of guilt or obligation, but a profound sense of patriotism. What we do, we do for the world which embraced us and gave us a place when we had none left. Kahje is our home. The hanar are our brothers and sisters. We will defend it and our people with all that we are. Forgive me, but that is why I cannot return to you. Not until this is settled.”

Tears stood in Imani’s eyes, despite her best efforts; she felt Garrus’ finger brush against her lower lashes by turns, careful to avoid scraping them with his sharp talon. “There’s nothing to forgive, Thane,” she said. She took a deep breath, and buried her face into Garrus’ soft sweater for a moment, not trusting herself to keep it together. What he said resonated with her deeply, more than he realized. Imani knew what it was like to lose a home, twice over; she hadn’t had one since she was sixteen, except a space station that now lay in gnarled, twisted ruins on the other side of the Charon Relay. The Reapers had blown through Arcturus like a cosmic hurricane, and left nothing of the place she’d once known as a sanctuary when she was a refugee with nowhere else to go.

And Kahje wasn’t a military base home to mostly soldiers, with only a handful of civilians living there. It was a vibrant planet full of priests and poets, scholars and diplomats and families—not the “dumb jellyfish” so many ignorant humans dismissed them as, but a complex people...and at their side, always, were the drell they had compassionately saved from extinction. They built something beautiful and only wanted to protect it, like anyone else.

Even though Imani had only seen it through Thane’s wistful memories, she believed she understood what that meant to him, and why he had to do what he did. And though it grieved her to be apart even a little while longer, she could never be angry at him for it.

“I understand, love. Do what you’ve got to do,” Imani said. “We’ll help however we can.”

“Just say the word,” Garrus added.

Thane nodded with a faint smile, but was otherwise silent in the kitchen, the only sound punctuating the silence being the soft whirring of the dishwasher when he activated it, and the hiss of released steam from the kettle. Imani watched him intently as he retrieved more glasses from the cabinet, coded by a thin colored glass along the rim in the universal chirality shades—two red, one blue. He silently went through the motions of the tea service again, though Imani could see him this time as he swirled herbs and leaves inside the delicate cups with a thin, wooden implement, whispering prayers upon each of them by turns. It was drell service, this, and not hanar—Imani’s sharp, cybernetically enhanced sense of hearing detected the names of drell gods and not the Enkindlers.

“What of the Alliance project you mentioned?” Thane asked suddenly, as he carried in the tray. He stood before the couch, holding it out to Imani and Garrus.

“Liara was doing some research on Mars, at the Prothean Archives. From what I understand, she headed there to see if she could find anything at all that could help against the coming invasion,” Imani replied, gratefully taking the proffered cup. “Right after we escaped Earth, Admiral Hackett ordered us there, and we saved her right before the Sol system fell entirely to the Reapers. It turns out she found schematics buried in the archives, for some kind of Prothean super weapon called the Crucible. No one’s even sure what it does yet, but we’re desperate enough to throw everything we’ve got at building it. Hackett’s overseeing the construction, but it’s going to cost a staggering amount of money and resources. The turians are on board with the project, but the rest of the Council is reluctant to commit.”

“Primarch Victus is diverting everything he can spare for it,” Garrus said. He took the solitary blue-rimmed cup from the tray; Thane sat the tray on the table and took the other red-rimmed cup for himself, then sat down next to Imani again.

“That would explain a great deal of the chatter I’ve heard among my contacts. Very well—when my mission is completed, I’ll bring word of this to the Primacy. I don’t dare risk it now, with the indoctrinated agents still out there. But we will do what we can to aid this project, I swear it,” he said.

Garrus gently blew into his cup, taking a quick sip, and then a much longer one. “So, uh. Anyone want to talk about something besides our impending doom? Maybe play some cards?” he asked, sighing. “This is the first time we’ve gotten to hang out like this in a very long time, and Reapers are fucking exhausting.”

“Are you so eager to lose at Skyllian Five again?” Thane chuckled.

“I could ask you the same thing, Krios, considering who actually won the last game,” Garrus said archly. “Listen, all I’m saying is that I hope you didn’t call us up here just for war talk. I…we missed you. I’d rather we toasted to your health, if that’s fine by anyone else.”

Imani watched the exchange curiously, and particularly the way Garrus fumbled for his words. It was familiar, and endearing, how he darted his gaze to the cup and didn’t drink his tea so much as gulp it down. All the Archangel swagger in the galaxy couldn’t hide his nervousness.

She smiled at it. “Fine by me,” she said, and raised up her cup.

Three glass mugs gently clinked together, in a harmonious-sounding chime. Imani thought that felt right too.

Thane sank back into the cushions, crossing a leg, and stretched an arm about Imani’s shoulders. “It means a great deal to me, siha, ash’er—I…”

Imani glanced sidelong at both of them, seeing the unmistakable look her lovers exchanged. Maybe they would need just a little nudge, after all. “ _Is_ there something else you guys wanted to talk about?” she asked.

She was answered with a momentary awkward silence, before Thane was the one to finally speak up.

“Garrus was right, siha. I didn’t bring you here merely to discuss the Reapers. When we were sitting in Oasis, you chastised me for withholding the truth from you, out of misguided protectiveness, and I deserved it. The foundation of our relationship, of this arrangement with Garrus, has always been honesty. To that end, I asked him up here too,” Thane replied. He raised his brow ridges meaningfully across her, at the turian now holding his mug in a vice grip.

“You really want to do this now?” Garrus said, after another long drink.

“We should have done it a long time ago, ash'er. I realize that now,” Thane said.

Garrus sighed, and blinked hard, taking a deep breath—and yet another hard gulp of tea. He looked like he could definitely use something stiffer, Imani thought to herself with some amount of sympathy. This couldn’t have been easy for him.

He glanced away from Thane and back to her, sitting his mug on the table, before taking her hand into a trembling one of his own.

“Alright. Here’s the thing, Imani…” Garrus began, his mandibles flickering a bit—a telltale of nerves, as Imani was well aware, knowing him for so long and so well now. “Something kinda went down with me and Thane on Illium, a while back.”

“Oh?” Imani kept her tone soft, and deliberately neutral. It’s not that she exactly enjoyed watching Garrus squirm, per se, but it was fairly amusing to her—and maybe a little maddening—the way they both assumed she had no idea what was going on between them. Imani had always been incredibly perceptive about these kinds of things, of course, but even the most cluelessly oblivious person could have seen and sensed the simmering unresolved tension between the drell and turian. It was damn near thick enough to cut with an omni-blade most of the time, and only thickened after that harrowing raid on the Collector Base.

There was a palpable sense of kinetic energy in the air whenever they were around each other, and Imani felt it even then, whenever their gazes met and lingered a bit too long, much less when Thane—a man almost comically protective of his personal space—always found ways to “accidentally” brush against him when moving out of cover.

Then there was the time they sparred.

“Our flights were delayed, and we had some time to kill, so we went out for drinks,” Garrus continued. His eyes darted downward, mandibles twitching as he reached up with his free hand to grip the back of his neck. “Then, well…one thing led to another. And another. And…well.”

Imani, to her everlasting credit, did her very best not to laugh at how flustered he was. She remained still on the couch, legs primly crossed, cup of tea in hand—the picture of unflappable elegance and patience, despite the sheer mirth bubbling deep inside her belly, threatening to spill over into hysterics. That it didn’t was a testament to her strong sense of discipline, more than anything else.

Thane was silent to that point, seemingly content to allow Garrus to make the confession at first, but glanced Imani’s way after taking a long drink from his own steaming mug; perhaps he couldn’t leave Garrus hanging out to dry, after all. “Siha, Garrus and I had sex that night in Nos Astra. It wasn’t something we intended, but we’d been drinking enough to lower our inhibitions. I promise you that we kept it from you not out of shame, or fear, but because of how uncertain and volatile our situation was. You were facing house arrest on Earth, and we didn’t wish to burden you unnecessarily. Forgive us for not telling the truth sooner.”

Imani couldn’t remain the stoic soldier any longer; something damn near akin to a cackle escaped her throat, before she could cover her mouth to keep it in.

“Not exactly the reaction we were hoping for,” Garrus mumbled.

“You really thought I didn’t know?” Imani laughed, wiping the tears of mirth from the corners of her eyes. “Is that what this is all about?”

Garrus and Thane exchanged another awkward glance.

“Siha, we—”

“Imani—”

They spluttered in unison, and she just kept on laughing. “Why the hell did you think I dropped you off in Nos Astra with chits full of Cerberus credits, anyway? To make some investments on the Exchange?”

Imani wasn’t exactly angry, not really. But she felt her laughter turning a little bitter then all of a sudden, and the tears of mirth stopped being funny for reasons even she didn’t understand. Her voice was cracking, her hands shaking, and she clamped them against her body, snatching one of them away from Garrus in the process, in a way she didn’t mean to be quite so forceful. “How dumb do you two honestly think I am?”

“Hey, nobody thinks you’re dumb,” Garrus said, in a firm tone.

“How long were you going to just not tell me?” Imani demanded, her face grown hot from more than tea.

“I don’t know,” Thane confessed.

“We didn’t think this through very well, did we?” Garrus snickered, in a bit of self-deprecation.

“Not really,” Thane agreed.

Imani dropped her arms and pushed off the couch, virtually climbing over the coffee table to get away. She needed air, and space to breathe it. She was pacing then, and didn’t realize it until she felt her the soles of her bare feet burning from the friction of hitting the silk rug over and over again. “Did you think I would freak out on you, or something? Was that it?” she asked.

“I mean, you kind of _are_ freaking out a little,” Garrus pointed out.

Imani flung her hands in the air. “I am not freaking out!” she yelled, her voice climbing an octave. She swore a string of invectives in about six different languages as she continued her pacing, starting with Arabic and ending somewhere between Brazilian Portuguese and the Singlish she had no idea she’d picked up much less _where_ she did, but surely had from Kaidan Alenko.

“We didn’t mean to anger you, siha—”

“I’m not angry!” Imani cried. She realized it with certainty then, what she was feeling, beyond a shadow of a doubt, when she stopped short in front of the sofa, and saw the human-shaped imprint in the center of it: a hole between Garrus and Thane.

It was funny how the strangest things jostled her brain and got it to reason again. She’d told each of them before dropping them off on Illium that night, alone and by turns, that she wasn’t holding either of them to some kind of odd, ascetic vows of celibacy while she was incarcerated, that she didn’t expect or want either of them to “wait for her” or similar nonsense. Yes, it was her way of dropping a final cartoon anvil on both of their silly heads, but she’d meant it.

The whole reason she’d said it, the whole reason why she’d set the scenario up in the first place, was Imani’s need for them to be alright when she was locked up. She loved them both so much that she couldn’t deal with the thought of them being lonely and miserable without her, of starving or depriving themselves of the affection they deserved and so clearly held for one another. She would be alone, but they didn’t have to be. They shouldn’t be. They should be happy, taking comfort and pleasure in one another.

And maybe part of her was just wanting to share what she had with each of them with the other. ...Maybe she wanted to be like her parents and “Uncle” Karim, the smiling and happy lovers who were raising a picture perfect family together, with no thought to how Garrus and Thane might feel about being a triad, just her own childhood dreams. Hell, maybe she was just being a dirty xeno, the way Joker always clowned her over, and was mad that they did it without her. Maybe she really was being selfish, the way Kaidan accused her of being—this weird tantrum she was having out of nowhere certainly suggested it. Isn’t this what she wanted, Garrus and Thane together? Why did it hurt so much, then?

Imani stared at the couch, at that distinctive imprint she’d left in it, at the men who meant everything to her. It hurt, by gods. It hurt worse than when Maya left her, when she left Liara, or when Kaidan called her a cheater, worse than the rest of the long and sordid litany of terrible relationship situations the brave champion of humanity faced in 30 some odd years. Geth, Collectors, Reapers…none of it hurt like this, like the knowledge she would be shut out from something important, by Garrus and Thane. Not from the sex, or even from the love, but from the _truth_.

“I’m hurt,” Imani said, shaking before them with the realization, and her voice broke on the second, in more of a choked sob than a word.

“Imani,” Garrus sighed, his eyes crestfallen, and he stood up, shifting around the table, crossing the distance between them. It felt like a chasm all of a sudden, but he came to her anyway—and Thane wasn’t far behind.

“We never wanted to hurt you,” Thane said softly, reaching up to brush away the loose curls from her cheek, to tuck it gingerly behind her ear.

“Never,” Garrus echoed, lifting her trembling chin with a gentle hand.

Imani Shepard, whose bones and flesh were stitched together by cybernetics and science, suddenly felt like she was made of glass, and not the tempered kind the furniture and the mugs were made from, but ephemerally fragile—like the sea glass that hardened in the heat of the punishing Mindoiran sun, along the shoreline, and shattered at the slightest touch.

Imani shattered then at the softness of a turian’s touch, and wept against him, sobbing into his sweater.

“I’m so sorry,” Thane whispered into her ear, hugging her tightly from behind.

It hurt to acknowledge the source of her pain, too, as much as the pain itself hurt. She was afraid it meant she was everything Kaidan said she was, in the worst heat of their argument at Huerta: that she was a selfish, narcissistic woman who needed to be the center of everything, who didn’t care about anyone else’s feelings nearly as much as her own hedonism, and just saw them as notches on her considerable bedpost.

“I’m not hurt that you did it,” Imani said, muffled by Garrus’ collarbone.

“Then why are you?” Garrus asked, gently. “I’m new to all this, remember? I thought you were fine with the idea of us fooling around with other people.”

“It isn’t that. I knew you wanted each other for ages, before either of you had even realized it. I damn sure knew it when I walked in on you sprawled together on the floor like a Fornax vid, and even more when I saw the footage of the actual fight. I really did leave you in Nos Astra hoping you’d work it out, and you’d make each other as happy as you make me. I just didn’t think you’d hide it from me. And it makes me feel like I don’t matter,” Imani said, clinging to Garrus’ narrow waist.

“Siha, we were fools. We merely wanted to protect you, for reasons that escape me now as we stand here like this. This is the last thing we wanted,” Thane said, squeezing her in his embrace. “It was because you matter so dearly that we didn’t tell you. It was foolish, and I repent it dearly.”

They were echoes of his words earlier, in the restaurant…their need to protect her at all costs wasn’t something she could fault. The sentiment behind the intent was pure and beautiful, but it did little to change the consequences. Imani tried to see the nobility behind it; she heard the love in their words, clear as day. But that still didn’t make it right.

“I’m...I’m not used to being protected. I guess I’m trying. But this isn’t how to do it,” Imani said. “If you trust me, you’ve got to trust that I can handle these things. And if you trust in the love we share, you’ve got to trust that we can talk about it, even if it’s weird or awkward. Otherwise, none of this works.”

Garrus stroked her back, running a hand up and down the plush knit of her sweater, and she sighed a little contentedly. It was soothing, and it made her realize how starved she was for simple touch. “Alright. No more holding back,” he promised.

“Agreed,” Thane said. “To that end...how do you feel about this, siha? We’ve crossed a threshold, and I’m uncertain how we should navigate it.”

Imani didn’t have to think twice about the answer.

“That time, when the Collector Base was about to explode and I was the last one back to the ship, running for my life, I ran and I leapt and I tried to fly like Samara but my amp just gave out under the strain…when I was dangling from the airlock too exhausted and weak to pull myself up? You pulled me up, both of you,” Imani said.

She felt a three-fingered hand pat her curls, resting atop her head. “I don’t need to be a drell to remember that, love. You needed me, and I was there—we were there,” Garrus said. “Just like we always said we’d be.”

Imani wrapped her arms about his narrow waist, clinging to him then as much as she did that fateful day. “That moment…when I collapsed against Thane, and you stood there holding me, the both of you, and our arms were around each other like nobody was watching or cheering, and we all held each other like we weren’t fleeing an exploding enemy base in the middle of the godsdamned galactic core? It felt so, _so_ right.”

“It sure did, now that I think about it,” Garrus agreed.

“Indeed. And it is the very moment I believed it would be,” Thane said. “I suppose I always knew that you and Garrus were something of a package deal, as it were. I fell for you in part because of your rapport with him, of the bond that you shared with one another. And I suppose I wanted to be a part of it, as much as I wanted to be a part of your life, siha, after spending so many years bitter and alone.”

“You were, Thane,” Garrus said quietly. “I was just too clueless and mired in self-loathing to realize it. I was a bit of a hot mess when you met me, as the humans say. I barely understood my feelings for Imani, then. But the three of us have _always_ felt so right, from that first conversation we had about doing this whole poly thing.”

Imani smiled through the tears streaming down her face. “I just wanted it to be real so badly,” she said. “The attraction I saw between you two. Because it meant _we_ would be real, the way I desperately wanted. And then it was, and then you just…shut me out. This momentous shift happened between you, and you didn’t see fit to clue me in. You didn’t trust me enough to tell me, and I couldn’t be part of it. Gods, it hurts.”

Saying it aloud didn’t feel quite as terrible as it sounded in her head.

“You should have said something, Imani,” Garrus said, stroking her curls. “Listen, I’m still new to this whole interspecies, non-monogamy thing, remember? And none of the vids I saw talked about what happens when you fall for your girlfriend’s boyfriend,” he continued, with a nervous twitch of his mandibles.

Something about Garrus’ awkwardness was still so endearing to Imani. It reminded her more of the way he was when they first met. For all his badassery, and Archangel swagger, he was still so worried about screwing things up. It meant he cared, and deeply. The reminder of it was something that helped a lot.

Misguided as they were, their intentions were noble. They didn’t hide the truth because they wanted to shut her out, or go on without her.

And they came clean in the end.

Imani was starting to feel better already.

She gently extricated herself from them, shrugging with a smile up at Garrus. “You talk about it. Talking is the biggest thing, no matter what,” she explained. “Checking in with each other, just like we talked about before.”

“And then what?”

“Kissing, preferably,” Thane said, with a sly grin.

Garrus snickered. “Well, we sort of skipped that step, didn’t we?”

“I was always an overachiever, I suppose,” Thane said.

“The drinks helped,” Garrus said.

Imani laughed a little, the last of her strange and sudden melancholy melting away. They really were her favorite people in the galaxy, when you got down to it. Just being with them, seeing them banter, felt like home to her. She glanced at each of them by turns, and felt a warmth spread inside her chest as she saw the way they looked at one another.

“I asked that night in Nos Astra what you wished to become of us, ash’er,” Thane said softly. “Do you still feel the same way?”

Imani stepped back a little, allowing Garrus space to cross the small distance. He loomed over Thane, gazing down at him, and tentatively placed his hands on the drell’s shoulders. “I never stopped thinking about you. I wasn’t kidding when I said the thought of being without you drives me crazy. It did for months—I couldn’t stop thinking about what happened that night, and not just because of the sex. Seeing you again just brings it all back.” Garrus squeezed Thane’s shoulders, his thick thumbs slipping across the crimson silk of his fine shirt. “I still don’t know what a slick, sexy assassin wants with a scarred-up failure of a turian, any more than a gorgeous one woman army does, but I’m here if that’s what you want.”

Thane’s answering smile was practically dazzling, and Imani had to remind herself to breathe. Part of her was a little afraid that she was intruding upon the intimacy of such a moment, but she reminded herself that they’d invited her into it.

“My life has seen a great deal of change in the past few months. Mordin’s treatment was successful, and I no longer have the spectre of my body’s impending death casting a shadow over me. I’ve begun the long process of reconciliation with my son. And I’m a leader of men, in my own way. But through all this change, my feelings for you have remained a constant, Garrus. I wept when I saw what happened to Palaven. The thought that I might never see you again outside my memories...”

Even then, Imani watched as Thane’s large, glossy eyes shone with forming tears, and he blinked slow and hard, the inner lids followed by the outer, willing them away with sheer stubbornness.

“I’m not going anywhere, Krios,” Garrus said softly, and raised a hand to Thane’s cheek, stroking the russet frills with his thumb. “Not if you don’t want me to.”

Thane leaned into him, and wrapped his arms about Garrus’ neck, pulling him down to slip his tongue into his mouth, Thane’s full lips pressing against the softer cartilage of the turian’s mouth plates. Garrus’ hands drifted down Thane’s body, wrapping around him, tightly pulling him against his own.

Imani’s heart was pounding in her ears, and she smiled even as her face grew hot again--though this time for more pleasant reasons. The heat of that kiss, the sheer fire between them, made her blood race like little else.

That must have been one hell of a night in Nos Astra, Imani thought to herself with a smile.

When they finally pulled up for air, they held each other a long moment.

“I’m really starting to dig this kissing business,” Garrus panted. Thane chuckled softly into his neck, then leaned back.

“If I have learned anything as a dealer of death, it is the ephemeral nature of life, and how fleeting it is. It is too precious to spend without those I love,” Thane said. He turned toward Imani then, lowering his arm from Garrus’ broad collarbone, and extended a hand to her.

Garrus followed Thane’s lead, and Imani took each of them by the hand; they gently pulled her toward them, and she nestled against them as best she could. No matter the slight awkwardness of it, it felt better than anything she could have dreamed of.

“None of this would have been possible if not for you, siha,” Thane said. “The pain and emptiness of Disconnection were replaced with the peace and joy of being Whole in a way I could scarce recall even with perfect memory, before I met you. Everything good in my life, I owe to you. But obligation is not what binds me to you, Imani Shepard. It is love, fierce and tender and all consuming. Nothing could ever diminish it. If I have given you cause to doubt that, then I am twice the fool I thought I was.”

Imani leaned back into Thane’s embrace, and took a deep breath; it hitched when Garrus lifted a finger to her cheek, brushing a stray curl from her eyes with a gentle talon.

“I don’t have any doubts. Not at all,” she said. “All I want is for us to be together, like this. Not some kind of arrangement, but…”

“A true triad,” Thane finished her thought aloud, squeezing her tightly. He nuzzled her hair a moment, resting his cheek against it. “It’s all I’ve wanted since Nos Astra. Before that, if I’m honest with myself. What of you, ash’er? Is this what you want?”  

Garrus bent down and pressed his mouth against Imani's brow. If there was ever a doubt about what the answer would be, it was crushed by the way his hands slid across the drell arms that held her. “I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life,” he said, gazing down at her. “Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind the whole sharing deal. I’ve loved you since the day I met you, Imani. I just didn’t realize it until I thought I’d lost you. All I want is for you to be happy, and Thane just added to that. But we’ve been through so much together, so many battles…maybe I started seeing him through your eyes.”

Imani watched him, smiling, as he glanced past her, turning his gaze toward Thane with a little tilt of his head. “There’s a lot I don’t understand in this crazy galaxy, but this? This, I get. This makes more sense than anything else, and there's nowhere else I’d rather be. We’re a hell of a team.”

“It’s settled then,” Thane said. Imani felt him kiss her ear, and her heart swelled with joy. She couldn’t help feeling like the luckiest woman in the universe then—the two men she loved most loved one another in turn, and now a new page was turning for all three of them, together. With all the fear and uncertainty, all the hardships, Imani was overjoyed to see this profound love grow and change and evolve into something even more beautiful than she could have dreamed. And she felt blessed have this new foundation, to have something anchoring her in the midst of this horrific war.

She silently thanked Aset, even as they held her.

“What’s ‘ash’er’ mean, anyway? If you don’t mind me asking. Is it like a siha?” Imani asked, her smile turning curious.

“Sorta. It’s an old drell word for someone you trust more than anything—someone you’d trust with the thing you treasure most,” Garrus answered. “At least that’s the way he explained it back then.”

“You remembered well--for a turian,” Thane said.

Imani felt her face turn hotter still, and she was a little speechless. That they would see one another that way made a certain amount of sense; this love each of them had for her was shared, and it brought them closer together by turns, close enough to light a spark between them that grew into smoldering flames. But it still meant something

Then, her omni-tool vibrated, and she wanted to swear.

_~Commander, refueling is complete, and we’ve just received a transmission from your old friend from Clan Urdnot. He’ll be attending the summit and sent coordinates for the rendezvous point. Awaiting your orders.~_

“Thanks, Traynor. Prepare to head out. Garrus and I are just finishing up in the Wards, we’ll be back in a bit,” Imani spoke into her comm unit.

“Duty calls?” Garrus asked, with a disappointed sigh.

“It waits for no one, least of all Commander Shepard,” Thane said. “I meant what I said, siha. As soon as my mission is complete, I will return to you both. Until then, stay safe.”

“You too, Thane,” Garrus said.

“Watch over our siha, ash’er,” Thane said gravely.

Garrus nodded, taking Imani by the hand. “You don’t have to ask.”

Thane kissed them both by turns. “I have intel to sift through. Speaking of which…one of my contacts mentioned a human biotic was recuperating in intensive care at Huerta memorial, a high ranking Alliance officer. It wouldn’t have captured my attention, but he was said to have served on the original Normandy crew,” Thane said.

“Kaidan?” Garrus asked, a bit startled. Imani nodded, lowering her eyes, trying desperately not to let the memory of him overwhelm her with grief and guilt again, when she was so happy.

“He took some nasty blows from a Cerberus synthetic on Mars,” Imani said grimly. “It was touch and go until we brought him here.”

Thane took her cheeks into his hands. “Siha, this is the Kaidan Alenko of which you spoke before?”

She didn’t trust herself to speak, and simply nodded.

“My work will likely keep me on the Citadel a while longer, if these leads prove fruitful. I will see to it that he remains protected,” Thane promised.

Imani blinked. “Thane…thank you.”

“He meant something to you, once. I see that he still does. Thus, he means something to me. I will watch over him,” he explained.

“You’re a good man, Thane,” Garrus said. He squeezed Imani’s hand. “We should probably be heading out,” he said gently.

“I wish we didn’t have to leave,” she sighed.

“So do I, siha. There's an old custom among my people, going back to the days when we still lived on Rakhana. When lovers part from one another, each gives the other a token as promise that they will return. An old superstition, perhaps, and one rather sentimental—”

Imani slid off the scarab ring she wore and passed it to Thane.

“But Imani, that was a gift from your father—”

"So you'd better bring it back then, huh?"

Thane smiled, bowing his head slightly in polite acceptance. “I will. I wish I had something of equal value to offer.”

“How about those?” Imani said. She slowly slid the ruby-lensed sunglasses up Thane’s collar, where they were clipped, and slipped them on, her vision engulfed by a soft red haze.

Thane pursed his full lips at the sight of it, very nearly purring. “They suit you, siha. And what of you, Garrus? What is it you wish from me, as a token?”

“The M-97,” Garrus said firmly, and without hesitation.

Thane raised his brow ridges. “The Viper? You want my rifle?”

“Did I stutter? That’s a damn good rifle, and you know how practical turians are. Anyway, if you want a bit more sentiment—that’s the rifle you had that night at Dantius Towers. You want to know when I fell in love with you? It’s when I saw how clean your headshots were with that gun,” Garrus said.

“For a failure of a turian, you sure sound a hell of a lot like one,” Imani snickered.

“We’re terribly romantic, I know,” he drawled.

Nonetheless, Thane strode toward an unsuspecting wall in the suite, standing before it to activate a scanner, and a panel slid open to reveal an arsenal of guns upon a rack—sleek sniper rifles, semi-automatics, and his favored pistols. He lifted out one sniper rifle in particular, with the familiar burnished silver and blue Rosenkov livery, shutting the panel behind him. Then, Thane tossed it to Garrus, who caught it without flinching.

“Come to papa,” Garrus practically cooed, as he lovingly stroked the barrel.

Imani laughed. “You’ve got to give him something back now, remember?”

Garrus crinkled his nose a moment in thought, then reached into the deep front pocket of his sweater. “This is the modded scope I had when I was holed up on Omega. It’s something of a good luck charm. I was under siege by the gangs, my team was all dead, and I was ready to go out in a hail of glory. Then I looked through this scope, and there was Imani, after I’d spent two years thinking she was dead. Suddenly, things weren’t quite so grim. And I made it out of that apartment, even though I left half my face on the floor,” he said. He tossed it to Thane, who caught it and gripped it tightly.

“I’ll take good care of it, ash’er,” Thane promised.

Imani smiled at them, and took Garrus’ hand again. “We really should be heading back.”

“I hate goodbyes,” Garrus said.

“It won’t be for long,” Thane said. “I love you both. May Arashu shield you from harm, and Amonkira guide your steps.”

Imani wanted badly to kiss him again, one last time; but she knew that if she did, she would never leave. And so she stood there, smiling with all the warmth and affection she felt. “I love you too. And we’re holding you to that.”

“Yeah. You owe us a threesome, remember?” Garrus said.

Hand in hand, Imani left the suite at Garrus’ side, to the faint sounds of Thane’s wicked laughter.

Garrus was right: they really were one hell of a team. Knowing they were in this together, always, Imani felt a lot less like the wreck she was in a public restroom in Zakera Ward a few short hours ago. There was something of the old confidence back in her steps, as they walked hand in hand toward the elevators back to Bay D24, over at the docks.

“Would it be weird if I said I feel like the luckiest damned turian in the galaxy right now, just when it’s falling apart?” Garrus asked, as he leaned back against the glass.

Imani stood on her toes and planted a warm, wet kiss on his cheek plate. “Not at all. But we’ve got to take our victories where we can, Garrus. There’s nothing wrong with feeling good about having something more to fight for,” she said. “Sometimes it’s the only thing that can keep you going, when things get awful.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. It certainly beats the alternative,” Garrus said. He wrapped his arms around her waist, drawing her as close to him as their bodies would allow.

_The Normandy_ quickly began rising into view through the thick pane of glass, its massive hull gleaming in the artificial light of the Presidium to beckon them home, and Imani leaned her cheek against Garrus’ shoulder.

“...does your cabin even have enough room for the three of us?” Garrus suddenly mused aloud. “I can barely fit my own gear in there.”

Imani giggled, nuzzling his shoulder. “We’ll make it work. We always do.”


End file.
